


It's Been a Long and Winding Road

by thisisthemorning



Category: What We Do in the Shadows (2014)
Genre: Backstory, First Kiss, Journal Entries, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 09:06:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8885041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisisthemorning/pseuds/thisisthemorning
Summary: The 2014 documentary told us everything we need to know about our favourite vampires' daily lives in Wellington, but what did they get up to before that?





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Elfgrandfather](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elfgrandfather/gifts).



_Transylvania, 1831_

The castle was dark and foreboding, its walls lit by scant moonlight. No candles glowed in its windows, and, aside from bats, no animals seemed to dare to stir within its walls. Suddenly, a terrible scream rent the air from within the stone fortress, before fading to a pained gurgle, until it finally disappeared again into silence.

A figure, watching from within an inn on the next hillside, turned away from the window. "Another one went up there."

"Poor fools," his companion commented. "They'd have a much better death with us."

The first speaker frowned. "Viago, why must you care so much about whether they have a good time before they die? It does not matter, they are still dead afterwards. I just hate that he seduces all the virgins up there."

Viago sighed. "It is true... He doesn't like to share."

They turned back to staring at the castle through the window. After a few minutes, Viago nudged Vladislav. "You know, the kitchen maid told me she's only courted one man. She's _almost_ a virgin."

Vladislav sighed. "Oh, alright then. But only if you let me bite her first."

Viago let his friend go down to the common room of the inn first, before pulling a wad of paper from his waistcoat. _Vladislav hasn't quite been himself since the Beast,_ he wrote in painstakingly floral cursive. _I do try and allow him to feel he's got the best of me occasionally, just to make him feel better!_

~

The next evening, Viago and Vladislav were in the middle of debating which of them should go up to the castle first, when they were interrupted by another scream.

"Another one?" Vladislav groaned. "He gets all the luck."

Viago frowned. "No, listen," he said, and paused. "That's the same one."

"What do you mean, it's the same one?" Vladislav said huffily. "You cannot drain them twice! If you could, it would be so much easier!"

Viago stared at the castle. "He has turned someone into a vampire! That must be it. We must go there, now! If he’s turned someone, it must mean he doesn't want to be alone anymore."

Vladislav slumped down by the window. "Why would he want to spend time with us, if he has somebody he chose to turn? He is the most famous vampire in the world, after all."

Viago sighed. "That is quite enough of that defeatist attitude," he told Vladislav. "Come on!"

~ 

The castle looked a lot larger up close, with an imposing wooden gate that was at least twice Vladislav's height. 

"I wonder if there is a doorbell?" Viago mused.

"Do you really think he's just going to invite us in?" Vladislav said. "This was a foolish idea. We should leave." He had just turned around and started to make off down the hillside path, when suddenly the gate let out a loud creaking sound and slowly opened.

"COME IN," a disembodied voice hissed from inside. Viago looked at Vladislav nervously. The older vampire shrugged, and turned around. Together, they crept through the door.

At first, they could see nobody at all, just a large, cobwebby staircase leading up into the castle. Then, a figure emerged from the darkness, floating in midair, his teeth and eyes prominent in his face. He hissed at them.

Viago shrieked and stumbled backwards, while Vladislav involuntarily transformed into a bat – well, sort of. (As Viago would note later in his journal: _Poor Vladislav. He just can’t get the faces right since that unpleasantness with the Beast._ )

"WHY DO YOU DISSSTURB ME?" the ancient vampire hissed.

"Vladislav!" Viago muttered. "Stop flapping around!" He nervously brushed at his jacket and waistcoat, and attempted a smile as Vladislav landed behind him. "I am _so_ sorry to intrude on you like this, terrible sorry, we can leave again if you'd like," he said nervously. "We were just wondering... I mean, we heard that you had maybe, possibly, turned someone else into a vampire..."

"YOU ARE ALREADY VAMPIRESSSS," Petyr hissed.

"Well, yes, I know, we are, you see..." 

Vladislav stepped in front of Viago and stood confidently between him and Petyr. "You are Petyr, the Bird of Death, are you not?" he asked.

Petyr nodded, hissing again through his teeth.

Vladislav gestured to Viago. "We wish to join our powers with yours, to become a vampire clan. Would you join with us?"

Petyr regarded them for a moment in silence, then began to hiss, his head bobbing. As Viago would write in his journal later that night: _I thought perhaps he was having some kind of convulsion, until I realised he was laughing at us! I did feel very silly then._ For now, both Viago and Vladislav stared at Petyr, not quite sure how to respond.

"So.... Is that a yes?" Viago asked eventually. Vladislav elbowed him in the ribs and glared at him, then stepped towards Petyr and said, more grandly: "Will you accept our invitation?"

Petyr stopped his hissing laughter, and stared at them again for a moment with his unnerving, unblinking eyes. "YOU AMUSSSE ME," he said finally. "YESSS. WE WILL JOIN YOU."

"We?" Viago mouthed to Vladislav, who shrugged. Petyr hissed again, and, as if he'd called to him, a man appeared at the top of the stairs, his face pale in the moonlight filtering through the unglazed windows. He was unshaven, with shaggy hair and torn peasant’s clothing.

"Hello," the man said, nervously. "Are you all vampires too?"

~

Viago's journal, April 8th 1831

_We discovered that his name was Deacon, and he was only one day old as a vampire! It was very exciting... I myself have not turned anyone into a vampire for decades, and I had forgotten how much fun it was to explain everything. I think Deacon took it all pretty well. He and Petyr are both joining our vampire clan, so now there are four of us! We have decided to leave Transylvania for now though, because apparently the people here have been annoying Petyr with their vampire hunting for a while now. So we're going to Prussia! Deacon has family there too, apparently, so we might even visit them._

Addition from Vladislav, in what looks like dried blood: _His sister will be delicious. He says she is a virgin._

Viago's handwriting resumed, in large capital letters: _Stay out, Vladislav! No vampires who are not me are allowed to write in this book!_

~

_Island of Rugen, 1850_

In the dark of night, the village on the seafront was as quiet as death. Only the scuttling of rats disturbed the peaceful streets - hundreds of them, in fact, climbing walls, skittering out of drains, and slipping through windows and doors. 

Inside one small dwelling, someone sighed, and tried to push three rats back out of the door with a broom. “I do wish Petyr would stop calling all the rats to him whenever he wakes up,” Viago complained, slamming the door closed to shut out the squeaking. 

Deacon sat up from his wooden coffin with a yawn, and shrugged. “Whatever. We’re vampires. What is the problem with a few rats?”

Viago sniffed. “We may be vampires, but we don’t have to live in absolute squalor,” he said.

Deacon ignored him, and instead held out two waistcoats. “Which do you think looks better?” he asked, holding them up against himself.

“Oooh,” Viago said, smiling widely. “It’s Thursday! You’re visiting your mother today!”

“You still have not eaten her?” Vladislav pushed open his coffin, and made a disgusted face. 

Deacon huffed as Viago made a tutting noise. “Vladislav, I am not eating my mother,” he said, indignantly. 

Vladislav rolled his eyes. “Well, what are you going to do, then? She’s going to work out that you’re not human, sooner or later. I mean, you’ve looked exactly the same for twenty years!”

“Actually, I think it’s been nineteen,” Viago pointed out.

“She has poor eyesight,” Deacon said, defensively.

Vladislav laughed. “Then why does it matter which waistcoat you wear?”

Deacon dropped the waistcoats and flew, hissing, towards Vladislav, who turned into a cat and yowled. 

Viago sighed and went into the small kitchen, pulling out his journal. _One nice thing about being a vampire clan is that we are all there for each other,_ he wrote with a flourish. _But it would be nice to find a slightly larger house one day. It does get a bit cramped and messy…_

~

An hour before dawn, the vampires’ house was quiet. Vladislav was out, Petyr was doing… whatever Petyr did in his coffin, and Deacon was still visiting his mother. Viago, meanwhile, was using the time to practice his pottery skills. He hummed under his breath as he shaped the clay. _I have my eye on the girl next door,_ he had written, earlier that night. _She is most definitely a virgin, and I believe I could make her very happy if I create a beautiful vase for her. I do like to give my victims a nice evening!_

The door slammed, and Viago jumped, knocking his half-finished vase onto the floor. “Will you please shut the door quietly?” he complained, looking up to see who had interrupted him. 

At the sight of Deacon, he forgot all about the vase. “What on earth happened to you?” he asked, concerned. His friend was covered in feathers and blood, his clothing ripped, a burn mark on his sleeve. “Are there vampire hunters? Did they find you??”

Deacon threw himself into a chair and buried his head in his hands. “My mother,” he croaked. “They killed her!”

Viago crouched next to Deacon and laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. “The vampire hunters killed your mother? Did you turn her into a vampire?”

Deacon looked at him sharply. “Vampire hunters? No!” he said, sounding confused. “The ducks! The ducks and the geese!” He let out half a sob. “I never should have visited her… Vladislav was right… I should have eaten her myself…”

It was Viago’s turn to look confused. “There, there,” he said, trying to be comforting. “If you had eaten her yourself, you wouldn’t have been able to spend all this time with her, would you?”

Deacon sighed, and looked at him. Viago’s heart went out to him – he looked so sad. “Why don’t we get these feathers off you, and find you a nice meal?” Viago suggested. “I’m sure you’ll feel better then.”

Deacon let Viago lead him to the kitchen tap. “It was all my fault,” he whispered. “The neighbours… they told her they thought I was a vampire! And so she did what anyone would do… the mask of crackers… but then the ducks, and the geese… they came for her. I couldn’t stop them!”

“There, there,” Viago said again, unsure what else to say. He brushed the feathers gently from Deacon’s hair and wiped the blood from his face. “Vladislav has that man in the cellar he’s been torturing for days. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if we ate him?”

Deacon let out another small sob, but nodded. Viago draped an almost-clean towel across his friend's back, and led him to the cellar with his arm around Deacon's shoulders. It was the least he could do, after all.

~

Viago’s journal, October 4th, 1850

 _Deacon is still a little sad about his mother, but I think the virgin in the cellar helped cheer him up. It turned out that Vladislav_ did _mind, but I let him have the girl next door instead. Now everyone can be happy again. Unfortunately, since Deacon’s mother’s neighbours know he is a vampire, we do need to move somewhere else, or we’ll have vampire hunters here at all hours of the night. Petyr was not very happy about having to move, but I’m sure he’ll get used to the idea. I think he was just sad that he would have to leave some of the rats behind…_

~

_The outskirts of Petrograd, 1917_

The building they sheltered in was little more than a shack. Wind whistled through the cracks in the walls, and even flakes of snow occasionally found their way inside. The only protection against the last rays of the day’s sunlight was some heavy sacking, which had been hastily tacked to the walls with rusty nails.

Deacon peered out from under the rough table suspiciously. His dark hair was a tangled mess, and he had soot smudges on his face. “Is it dark outside yet?”

Viago cautiously pulled aside a piece of sacking. “Yes!” he said, relieved. “We can leave now!” He looked around the shack. “Vladislav still has not found us?”

Deacon shook his head. “He still isn’t here. But we have to go! Vladislav can find us later. For all we know they could still be hunting us…”

Viago grimaced. He had written in his journal before going to sleep, the wind whistling around him as he wrote: _Vladislav left for the Winter Palace three nights ago. He said he wanted to turn one of the Tsar’s daughters into a vampire, to show the Beast that he could have a much better girlfriend than her. But then the people began to attack the palace, and our lodgings were burned down! Not only that, but a vampire hunter began chasing Deacon and I. We had to leave the city without Vladislav. I left him a note… I hope he found it. We are going to find Petyr in Transylvania. Perhaps this is why he didn’t want to come to Russia?_

“Viago!” Deacon said urgently. “We have to leave! There are men with flaming torches outside!”

“The vampire hunters…” Viago groaned. He grabbed his journal and tucked it into his shirt, then began to gather up his clothing into a sack. A bang shook the hut – someone was trying to beat down the door.

“Come on, Viago,” Deacon shouted. The shack shook again, and the door half-cracked under the pressure. From outside, they could hear shouts in Russian.

“I’m coming!” Viago shouted back, slinging the sack over his shoulder with the last of his things, and flying up to the ceiling to join Deacon.

“One… two…. three!” Deacon shouted, and they both slammed against a loose section of the roof, where the most snow had fallen through. The roof gave way just as the door caved in, and they flew out into the night. 

Beneath them, Viago could still hear the shouts of the hunters. He glanced back, seeing the glare of the flames enveloping the shack, and the angry faces of the men around it. One shouted something harsh, and Viago shrieked in surprise as a flaming arrow whistled past his neck, missing him but setting his scarf alight. He pulled at it desperately, until it came off, though he nearly fell from the sky in the process.

“Viago, what are you doing?” Deacon shouted. 

Viago caught up with him, still patting nervously at the smoke around his neck. “My favourite scarf!” he said, despondently. “They set it on fire! I _hate_ vampire hunters.”

~

Viago’s journal, December 2nd, 1917

_I had been quite sad about my scarf since we left Russia, but as of today, I don’t need to be anymore! Deacon knitted me a scarf! Apparently, he noticed how sad I was, and so he learned how to knit just so that he could make me a new one. It is a little bit lumpy, but I don’t mind, since he made it especially for me. Of course, he says that he just happened to decide to learn how to knit this week and it’s a total coincidence, but I don’t believe him._

_Petyr’s castle is just the same as it was when we first met him and Deacon – and to think that was already over 80 years ago! They do say that time flies when you are having fun, and I think that’s very true. Fortunately, we are now all together again here. Vladislav got here two days ago… apparently, he_ did _manage to turn one of the Tsar’s daughters into a vampire (I think he said her name was Anastasia?) but then she turned out to be very annoying, so he left her in Russia and came back to join us. I think he missed us!_

In Vladislav’s handwriting, and scratched through: _I did not miss you. The Russians thought I was an aristocrat and planned to execute me, so I left._

In Viago’s handwriting, and underlined several times: _This is MY journal, not yours, Vladislav!_

~

_London, 1922_

Two dark figures strolled through the rainy, dimly-lit backstreets of Soho.

“I can’t believe that the others didn’t want to see the film!” Viago said, excitedly. “It’s about you and Petyr! Of course we have to see it!”

Deacon rolled his eyes. “Vladislav is just jealous that nobody has made a film about _him_ ,” he said, knowingly. 

Viago grinned. “I think you’re right. And I don’t think Petyr likes seeing images of himself. He never asks one of us to draw him when we’re all trying on outfits for our nights out."

Deacon shrugged. “He only _has_ one suit, doesn’t he?”

“Look!” Viago interrupted. “There’s the cinema!”

On the side of the building, a large, brightly lit sign proclaimed the evening’s entertainment: **_Nosferatu: A Symphony of Horror!_** Viago giggled with excitement and rubbed his hands together. 

Deacon strode forward. “Come on, we have to get good seats!”

~

Viago rushed to catch up with Deacon as he marched out of the cinema. “Well, I thought it was quite good!” he said, trying to bring a smile back to Deacon’s lips. “I mean, they did kill Petyr at the end, which I do think was a bit mean, but….”

Deacon huffed. “They portrayed me as that, that stupid salesman! I was not there to _sell_ things! I was adventuring! And I didn’t look like that! I looked much more… more suave. I wasn’t shabby!”

Viago was fairly sure he remembered differently, but he tried to strike a conciliatory tone. “It’s fiction, Deacon… they are allowed to change some things, for dramatic effect!” He stepped in front of his friend, to stop him from rushing ahead of him. “I thought the special effects were very good, at least. The bit with the shadow on the stairs…”

Deacon pushed him aside. “It was all wrong. One hundred percent wrong,” he said angrily. “In fact, you know what I am going to do now? I am going to go to Berlin and show those idiots how to really make a film about vampires!”

Viago frowned. “To Berlin? But you said you’d go to the Lake District with Vladislav and me. To visit Wordsworth!”

Deacon growled. “Wordsworth? I don’t want to go and talk to some moldy old poet. What kind of self-respecting vampire writes poetry about daffodils? And he hasn’t written anything at all in seventy years!” He glared at Viago. “I’m going to Berlin. I’ll show them how it’s done, and then I’ll eat them, just to teach them a lesson. You can come, or not. I don’t care!”

Viago’s face fell. “Well, if you don’t care, then maybe I’ll just go to the Lake District without you,” he said, petulantly. “And maybe Wordsworth will write poetry about Vladislav and I, and _we won’t tell him about you at all!_ ”

Deacon folded his arms. “Fine, then,” he said, angrily. “Do what you want.”

Viago folded his too. “Fine,” he said, fighting the urge to stick out his lower lip. 

Before he could say anything else, or change his mind, Deacon turned into a bat with a hiss, and flew away. Viago watched him fly for a minute, and then sighed.

~

Viago’s journal, June 17th 1922

 _Deacon has left us and gone to Berlin. I don’t know when he’ll be back. I think Vladislav and Petyr are angry with me for not stopping him, but if he wants to go there, who am I to say anything? I don’t know why Vladislav thinks I could have changed his mind anymore than anyone else could have._

[Some lines are scratched out and illegible]

_If Deacon doesn’t want to be friends with me us anymore, then that’s his decision. He can have fun being a big movie star in Berlin, or whatever it is he wants to do._

~

_Wellington, 1952_

_Dear Viago,_

_I heard you went to New Zealand. I know it has been a few years, but would it bother you if I came to visit for a while? I need to get out of Europe for a while…_

_Deacon_

_Dear Deacon,_

_Of course you can! I had a bit of a detour getting here, so I have only just got here myself. But I’m at a bit of a loose end right now, and I was just thinking the other day about how nice it would be to have all of us together again! I will write to Vladislav and Petyr as well._

_Yours,  
Viago_

_Dear Viago,_

_Petyr and I will come to New Zealand. Anywhere has got to be better than another decade in this gloomy castle. Do you have a well-equipped dungeon?_

_Vladislav_

~

Viago smiled happily as he opened the front door of the big house for Vladislav, Petyr, and Deacon. “It’s our house!” he said, proudly. “I bought it for us!”

Petyr hissed, and flew past him, heading for the basement. Vladislav strode inside, and looked around critically. “I like the high ceilings,” he said approvingly. “Where can I set up my torture chamber?”

“You can choose whichever room you’d like,” Viago said, magnanimously. He glanced nervously at Deacon. As he would write in his journal that night: _I had not seen him in thirty years, and now here he was, standing in our house, that we would all live in together! I know my heart doesn’t beat anymore, but I really did feel like it was, at that moment. I almost forgot my dear Katherine in my excitement…_

Deacon marched inside, and glared at Vladislav. “I say we vote on who gets which room!” he declared.

Vladislav looked at Viago, and laughed. “I vote that we don’t vote,” he said.

“I think there are plenty of rooms for all of us…” Viago began, trying to keep the peace, but he was interrupted as Petyr returned to the hallway. 

“NO VOOOTE,” Petyr hissed, and left again.

Viago gave Deacon an apologetic smile. “I’m sure you can find a nice room?” he said, nervously, although he wasn’t exactly sure why he should be nervous. After all, it was his house.

Deacon folded his arms and glared at Vladislav as he left the room. Then he looked over at Viago, and his expression softened. “You’re still wearing it,” he said, finally.

Viago looked down at himself, confused for a moment, then realised what Deacon meant. “Oh!” he said, surprised. “My scarf!” He gave Deacon a small smile, a strange emotion welling up inside him. “Well, it is my favourite scarf.”

Deacon looked, for a moment, taken aback, then returned the smile. “I could make a much better one now,” he said, half proudly, half defensively. “If you’d like?”

Viago wrapped his hand around the scarf, feeling its familiar lumpiness. “I could always have two favourite scarves,” he said.

~

Viago’s journal, February 1952

_It’s very nice that all four of us can live together again. Who would have thought, all those years ago, that one day we’d be flatting together on the other side of the world? And now Deacon is back with us… of course, I forgave him a long time ago for leaving, but I didn’t really think he would ever come back. I did miss him when he wasn’t here._

_You know what we should do now that we have a house again? We should have a house-warming party! I think I will suggest it tomorrow. And we will need to make a chore rota, now that we have a house that’s actually big enough…_

~

_Wellington, 1977_

It had been a long night on the town in Wellington. They’d tried to get into a new nightclub, but had, as usual, ended up in the banshee pub. It hadn’t been the best night, all told.

Vladislav trudged up the hill ahead of Viago and Deacon. “There should be a vampire club here,” he said grumpily. “I am tired of these banshees and their shrieking and complaining!”

Viago nodded in agreement. “They are a bit much after an hour or so. It would be nice to be able to dance, too!”

Deacon huffed. “Those banshees have no sense of style. And their shrieking drives all the humans away.” Then he stopped, and listened. “And here come the howlers. Great.”

Viago heard it too – the howling laughter of a werewolf pack in human form. “Ergh. Let’s go home,” he urged.

Vladislav was already at the top of the hill, too far away to notice that they’d stopped, but Deacon seemed like he was spoiling for a fight. As the werewolves rounded the corner, he picked up a stick. “Want to play fetch, puppies?”

“Vampires,” scoffed the pack leader. “Flap off home, why don’t you?”

Deacon turned to Viago. “Oooh… he told us to flap off. Because we can turn into bats! Isn’t that _hilarious_?” He tossed the stick, and one of the werewolves tried to leap for it, while the others held him back.

Deacon laughed. “You know, we can turn into bats by choice. We’re not bitches with no impulse control!”

The dark-haired werewolf to the left of the pack leader growled, and leapt forward, shifting into his wolf form in anger.

“Oh shit,” Viago said, flying up into the air. “Time to go, Deacon!”

Deacon, however, seemed determined to keep baiting the werewolves. He hovered above the transformed wolf, just out of reach, dangling a stick. “You want it? I know you want it!” he said, mockingly.

The werewolf snarled, sprang into the air, and tore off the left leg of Deacon’s flared trousers.

“Flap off!” one of the other werewolves shouted, laughing. Deacon hissed, transformed into a bat, and flew at the head of the pack leader. Viago shifted into his own bat form and flew after him.

By the time they landed, in a tangled heap on the other side of the hill, the werewolves were long gone and Deacon was stony-faced. “I am tired of this town, and its boring little banshees and werewolves and witches,” he told Viago, trying to sound angry, but sounding more weary than anything. 

Viago patted his shoulder, the only part he could reach, tangled up as they were. “We should do more fun things. Get out of the old routine, pick up some new hobbies,” he suggested. “Maybe we could go on a trip?”

Deacon shrugged. 

Viago looked at him, racking his brains for more things to say. He noticed the sweater Deacon was wearing, in psychedelic zig-zag patterns. “You know, your knitting is really very good these days,” he said, approvingly. 

Deacon looked at him, his angry expression fading a little. “Do you really think so?” he said, sounding surprisingly like he cared what Viago thought.

Viago nodded earnestly. Then an idea struck him. “You should get revenge on those… on those _bitches_ that way,” he said, hoping he could direct Deacon to something more constructive. “Why don’t you knit a sweater with a full moon on it? They would be too scared to even come near you!” He let out a small, gleeful giggle at the thought of the werewolves running away from a sweater, and looked hopefully at Deacon.

Deacon stared at him for a long moment. Then he snorted, a grin spreading across his face. “I'll do it!” he declared. “Those stupid puppies will never even dare to come close to me!”

Viago squeezed his arm and tried to pull himself to his feet, but Deacon’s legs were tangled up in his own, and instead he found himself pulling Deacon on top of him, face-to-face. Deacon stared at him again, and opened his mouth to say something. Before he could speak, though, a sudden impulse welled up in Viago, and he pulled Deacon into an embrace, their lips coming together, tongues entwining between lips and fangs. 

After what felt like forever, they parted, panting, and Viago stared at Deacon, unsure what to say. Deacon looked at him, flushed, lips parted, and gave him a small smile. “Let’s do that again,” he said, and leaned back in.

~

Viago's journal, 19th April 1977

_Deacon kisses better than anyone I have ever kissed. And I don't even have to fight the urge to eat him! I intend to kiss him much more often from now on._

An addition, in Vladislav's handwriting: _No kissing where I can see you. It disturbs me._

In Viago's floral cursive: _1\. This is my journal. Don't write in it! 2. I'll kiss Deacon wherever I want._

Viago finished the last sentence with a flourish, and giggled at his double entendre. He carefully closed the journal, placed it under his pillow in his coffin, and headed to Deacon's closet. This seemed like an excellent time to kiss him some more.

**Author's Note:**

> I've borrowed somewhat from Murnau's _Nosferatu_ for Deacon's and Petyr's backstories, so I couldn't resist having Deacon and Viago go to see the film!


End file.
